Whimsicality
by CosmicInflux
Summary: A collection of drabbles revolving around Hermione and the twins.
1. Just a Bit of Toast

**I needed a place for twin drabbles and decided to put them into one story rather than publish many little ones. I'm trying not to go into any angst involving _that which must not be named_ (Fred's death), but a few may slip. I apologize for not being sorry when it happens.**

* * *

"Would you like some toast, 'Mione?" Fred grinned down at her, a piece of toasted bread in his freckle-spotted hand.

Most everyone knew that if one of the twins offered something to you, particularly something you were to ingest, it would, in all likelihood, end disastrously. Which was why Hermione Granger was squinting up at Fred, her eyebrows furrowed.

"It's four in the afternoon."

His grin didn't falter; he only pushed it towards her.

"We're in the _attic_, Fred."

He was now beaming with unrestrained joy.

"Fred."

He was silent, still smiling at her.

"_Fred_."

She huffed in annoyance at his silence— and slightly frightening smile. They stared at each other, brown to brown. She hiked an eyebrow up, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm not taking the toast, Fred."

He merely smiled at her.

"Fred, stop offering me the toast."

Still, silence, and that grin.

"For the gods' sake, I'm not taking the bloody toast!"

His grin grew, if at all possible, and he slowly opened his mouth to say, "Just a bit of toast, 'Mione."

He then lifted the buttered, toasted bread, and viciously tore a chunk out of it. He chewed loudly, crunching obnoxiously, and kept beaming. After a few moments, the toast was gone, and Hermione was completely dumbfounded as he waved cheerily before apparating away.

"You don't even live here anymore!" She yelled to the empty space.


	2. Taken

The fire popped and crackled and a faint shrieking as the wood burned trilled softly in the Gryffindor Common Room. Its glow cast long shadows across the space and its inhabitants, including Hermione Granger. She sat in a corner of the room, darkness shrouding all except her face. A slice of orange glow illuminated only a diagonal slash of her head. One eye remained in the dark, while the other shone like whisky to a flame; both, though, were trained on the portrait hole. Her legs were pulled beneath her and her arms rested comfortably on the squashy chair.

Immobile, she was another part of the castle, but as the portrait opened abruptly, she was suddenly alive. The boy traipsed in carelessly, shaggy hair swaying with each easy step. Her eyes followed quietly, appraising him, until he made to amble up the stairs.

"Fred."

He cringed before relaxing upon recognizing her.

"Oy, 'Mione. Didn't see you there."

Smiling, he strolled to her armchair and nudged her limb off the arm so he could perch there. She tipped her head back to look at him, amber eyes hard.

Faltering, he hesitantly reached to put an arm around her shoulders but she defiantly shrugged it off.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He posed the question carefully, afraid of an eruption of her temper.

She glared at him, in awe of his temerity.

"What's wrong, he asks! What's wrong is when I wake up, after falling asleep in the Room of Requirement with _you_, to find my undergarments and wand snatched! That would've been fine, though I wondered how you got the knickers and bra, excepting the fact that in my dorm, my entire underwear drawer had been cleared!

I had to spend the entire Saturday outside without anything underneath on, in December, mind you!" She spat.

He started to speak, but she furiously cut him off.

"But what made it worse was how Ron stared! I thought he was—"

He interrupted her, his face suddenly serious.

"Ronald did what?"

Startled and confused, she calmed.

"He wouldn't stop staring at, well, these." She awkwardly gestured to her chest.

Fred stared for a moment before snapping his gaze up to her eyes. He frowned, "Ron was looking, eh?"

Wary, she nodded.

He abruptly stood and distractedly dug around in his pocket before handing over her knickers and wand. After a quick good night peck, he bounded up the stairs. Dumbfounded, Hermione collapsed back against the chair.

* * *

A terrified shriek echoed throughout the entire Gryffindor Tower, followed by loud, thundering footsteps. Hermione, confused, rushed into the freezing Common Room only to halt.

Ron, now equipped with his own very obvious cleavage, darted around, hands trying to hide the breasts he had acquired over night. As boys catcalled and shrilled whistles, a smile began to curve Hermione's lips.

"Always give the ladies' mates breasts; they'll forgive you every time."

Fred's arm slipped around her waist and she chuckled, shaking her head good naturedly.


	3. Pie

Hermione Granger is fond of pie. She also enjoys written words and the occasional avian charm practice. But more importantly, Hermione Granger _likes _pie. With its flaky or crumbly crust and thick, sugary (though sometimes spicy) filling, she knew life's answers could be found within.

So when she stumbled downstairs late one night at the Burrow, eyes squinted with sleep and hair a tousled mess, to find an untouched pie setting on the counter, she couldn't resist. Fingers twitching, she eagerly grappled for a knife and fork before gingerly and with loving care, cutting and lifting a perfect slice of pumpkin pie.

After taking a moment to properly sit so as to fully enjoy the confection, Hermione immediately dove her fork into the gooey mess of deliciousness and took her first bite. She sighed in pleasure and savoured the texture and flavour before swallowing with regret. Uplifted at the sight of her remaining slice, she repeated the motion; load, lift, relish.

Once her plate had only a few flakes of crust and the sporadic, tiny glob of pumpkin filling, she sat back and let her fork clatter softly onto the remains. Satisfied, the corners of her lips lifted as she picked up her plate and silverware. It remained even as she quietly washed her dishes and headed back upstairs with only the slightest noise and a glass of water.

The house settled back into silence as the soft click of the door echoed down to the kitchen.

Fred and George disillusioned themselves without a sound and shared equal looks of horror. They had anticipated Ron's constant hunger and planned according to his nightly affairs with the cupboards. They had not factored in a variable by the name Hermione Granger!

The twins wrung their hands together, found that lacking, and twisted the other's hands. Finally, after a few moments of silent conversation, they, at a loss, apparated from the Burrow to their flat.

As morning crept in and the occupants of the towering house began to rise, a furious shriek rang through every door, wall, crack, window, and cranny. Back at their flat, the twins twitched nervously in their sleep.


End file.
